Life at Fontainebleau as well as at Compiègne was almost uniform in its round of gaieties. The company assembled for breakfast at noon, after which the guests followed their own inclinations during the afternoon. A few privileged ones, however, were asked to drive or walk with the Empress, and afterwards to have tea with her. All guests enjoyed perfect liberty, but this did not prevent them from watching their neighbours to find out their little weaknesses, for gossip was rife both at Compiègne and at Fontainebleau, and many unpleasant rumours concerning the Emperor and the Empress were started there. The manners and customs that prevailed among the recipients of the Imperial hospitality were publicly criticised, the feeling being that it would certainly have been better had more discrimination been exercised. There was little dignity though much ceremony during these “series,” as they used to be called, and the extreme liberty granted was the source of all kinds of unmerited rumours concerning what happened in those vast halls. Somehow it savoured of desecration to see the gay company of careless men and fashionable women who thronged Fontainebleau without giving a thought to the great events which its walls had witnessed.
One evening at Fontainebleau, after the rest of the world had retired, I was returning late to my bedroom from an enjoyable stroll in the lovely park. There was a beautiful moon, and it lit up the old castle of François I., with its many turrets, its old gables, its whole aspect speaking of the grandeur of many ages. I thought myself the only one to indulge in such an eccentricity, when suddenly I came face to face with the Chevalier Nigra, then one of the great admirers of the Empress, and a general favourite both at Court and in Society. Chevalier Nigra had been the private secretary of Count de Cavour, and was considered one of the stars of Italian diplomacy. He professed the greatest devotion for Eugénie, knew exactly how to flatter her and thus to glean information as to what was going on in the French Cabinet. More clever than lovely Madame de Castiglione, who thought that one of her glances was sufficient to keep the Emperor enchained to her chariot, Nigra did not attempt to play the lover, but rather the worshipper of the Empress, whom he used to tell he had set upon a shrine whence he hoped she would condescend from time to time to smile upon him. He had all the subtlety of the Italian, and had read, and, what is better, thoroughly digested and understood, the philosophy expressed by Machiavelli in his works. He was an ardent patriot, and when he accepted the appointment to Paris it was with the firm intention of using his best endeavours to bring about the completion and recognition of Italian unity.
Nigra was an extremely pleasant man, with a sufficient tincture of cynicism to make him amiable without being aggressive. He rarely spoke the truth, and never said what he thought; but he had the talent of convincing people of his entire sincerity. A keen observer, he had judged better than any of his colleagues the frailty of the Imperial regime, and was only watching for the moment when the house of cards should collapse. On the evening I am referring to he was smoking a big cigar and walking slowly in the flower-garden which stretched in front of the private apartments of the palace, enjoying the scent of the roses, and from time to time raising his eyes towards the only row of windows still showing a light amidst the darkness that enveloped the venerable pile.
When he saw me, he pointed upwards with his finger to these windows, saying at the same time:
“She is not sleeping; she is always the last one to go to rest.”
“I wonder what she is doing so late,” I replied.
“Thinking about her dresses, or the last sermon she has listened to,” was the remark of Nigra. “How little the Empress understands her situation.”
“She gathers her roses whilst she can,” was my reply.
“Yes,” retorted the Italian diplomatist, “and perhaps she does the best thing under the circumstances; all this cannot last.”
“You do not believe in the durability of the Empire?” I asked him.